


The Mirage

by Mums_the_Word



Series: Did I Ever Tell You? [5]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Magicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The watch words are: “Now you see ‘em; now you don’t.” During this caper, Neal displays more mysterious expertise than just run-of-the-mill slight of hand. Peter demands answers!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mirage

 

     “Welcome to ‘Sin City,’ Peter,” Neal exclaimed enthusiastically as the two strolled through McCarron Airport in Las Vegas.

     Peter was quick to respond with a pithy comeback.

     “Just make sure that _you_ are not the one doing the sinning, Neal!”

     The two partners were actually in Las Vegas on FBI business. At present, Neal did not have the anklet in place because Peter reckoned that it would be too much of a hassle to explain Neal’s status at airport security. However, now they were on the ground seeking out their courtesy limo in the harsh desert sunshine, so Peter was considering getting the electronic tracker out of his carry-on bag. As if reading his mind, Neal turned to face his handler.

     “Don’t even think about attaching that thing back on me, Peter! I’m here to do a job, and it would be putting me at risk if anyone spotted the anklet. Besides, I am not going anywhere because I promised Elizabeth that I would keep an eye on _you_. How could I explain to her if I left you alone and some lusty, lascivious young thing lured you out to ‘The Chicken Ranch’?”

     Peter just exhibited a bland expression that his CI wasn’t sure how to interpret.

     “You do know what I’m talking about, right?” Neal decided that he needed clarification.

     Peter sighed. “Yes, Neal, I am worldly-wise enough to have heard about the brothel outside of the city limits where prostitution is legal.”

     “Just checking,” Neal explained, “because sometimes I’m amazed at your level of naiveté.”

~~~~~~~~~~

     Ten days ago, one of Neal’s former aliases, Ken Westin, had received an email outlining a job offer of a dubious nature. Of course, the FBI monitored all the pseudonyms attributed to Neal in his glory days, so it attracted instant attention. It seemed that an anonymous source wished to hire “Ken” to do a bit of cat burglary in Las Vegas for the hefty sum of $100,000. Of course, “Ken” was _very_ interested. Further cautious communication between him and the mystery man led to the identification of an Italian mobster living in Nevada.

     Neal and Peter had notified the local branch of the FBI in Vegas, and then had flown in themselves on Sunday to liaison with that field office. They would be setting up a little sting operation at “Paris,” an iconic landmark hotel on the Las Vegas Strip. This would be the actual scene of the crime because the hotel was currently displaying some interesting articles on loan from the Louvre in France.

     There was, of course, the odd piece of sculpture, and an assortment of old masters’ paintings, but the real appeal was “The Regent” diamond, a 140.5-carat bauble with an uncontestable reputation of being the most beautiful diamond in the world. It had an interesting history going back to 1698 when it was discovered in India. Over the years, it had been embedded in many a Roi de France’s crown, and even in the hilt of a sword at one time in antiquity. Now Vincent Spinatto wanted to own it, and Neal wasn’t quite sure where the kingpin wanted to stick it.

     The actual plan was for Neal to meet with the mobster in person eventually, and to get him on tape admitting that he wanted to hire the renowned sneak thief to steal not only “The Regent,” but also the assortment of colored diamonds that were arrayed around it in the display case.

~~~~~~~~~~

     The luxury limousine now ferrying Peter and Neal glided to a stop in front of the impressive resort hotel that even had a life-sized replica of the Eiffel Tower in the foreground. The inside of the establishment made one feel as if they had stepped into a French chateau. There were also numerous pathways leading away from the check-in counter that enticed one to stroll leisurely along Parisian boulevards to peruse high-end shops, or to stop at elegant restaurants and bistros with cobblestone patios.

     Apparently, the Las Vegas division of the FBI appeared to be less frugal regarding their budget than its New York counterpart. A uniformed valet escorted Neal and Peter to the two-bedroom Louie XV Tower Suite with a picture window framing an illuminated version of Eiffel’s statuesque creation. The suite was refined and chic, just like everything else that Peter had seen thus far, with fine Oriental rugs, a Steinway piano, a wet bar, and butter-soft leather sofas in the living room. However, Peter heaved a long-suffering moan when a very familiar figure, wineglass in hand, greeted him from one of those sofas.

     “Hello, Suit. How was your flight?”

     “What are you doing here, Mozzie?” Peter asked tiredly.

     Mozzie was the epitome of innocence. “Taking a little holiday, just like you and Neal.”

     “Well, we’re here on business, not pleasure, and this suite happens to be mine and Neal’s, and we don’t want to share. So, go gamble or something, maybe shake hands with a slot machine,” Peter dictated.

     Mozzie’s face fell and he assumed a sadly pitiful air, so Neal was forced to answer for him.

     “Mozzie is persona non grata in all the Vegas casinos, Peter. Years ago, the ‘eye in the sky’ thought they detected him counting cards at a Blackjack table. The word spread, so casinos are forever off limits for him.”

     Peter’s expression remained unmoved by that news.

     “Well, then take yourself up to Laughlin and gamble there, or has your reputation spread that far as well?” Peter thought that was an inspired idea on his part.

     “That’s okay,” Mozzie heaved a martyred sigh, “I can keep myself busy seeing a show or two. Did you know that there are actually eight different “Cirque du Soleil” variations on stage right now on the Strip? Talk about overdoing a good thing!”

     “Well, run along then,” Peter encouraged. “See a few, and then you can tell us all about it in a critique or a rant, or something.”

     “I can sense when I’m not wanted,” Mozzie pouted. “Maybe later we can get together for dinner. The all-you-can-eat buffet at the Bellagio is excellent, second only to the Bacchanal buffet at Caesar’s Palace. There are over 500 culinary items to choose from.”

~~~~~~~~~~

     Mozzie had no sooner departed when there was another knock on the door. Bob Reinhart, the head of the hotel’s security team, introduced himself and offered to show Peter and Neal exactly what was thought to be at risk. Once on the main floor, he led them down a marble thoroughfare to almost the center of a chandeliered open space. A pedestaled case had been placed among a virtual forest of exotic ferns, birds of paradise, and orchids of every color. A high intensity light within the case illuminated the spectacular cushion-cut Regent Diamond atop a blue velvet stand. Its perfectly chiseled facets caused it to wink coquettishly at whomever was standing around the pedestal. Below the main prize were a handful of colored diamonds of substantial carat weight as well. They looked like handmaidens nestled below the feet of their queen.  

     “There she is,” Reinhart said almost in awe. “Today’s estimate of her worth is said to be $73,920,000. The little trinkets on the velvet below are nothing to sneeze at because they add up to several million in their own right.”

     “Impressive,” Neal murmured as he circled the case like a hungry tiger stalking prey.

     Reinhart was quick to reassure him and Peter. “Well, our security is impressive as well. The case holding the valuables is made of titanium, and the glass panels are bulletproof polycarbonate. There are pressure plates inside, and wireless sensors on the edges of the glass that communicate with direct electrical current. There is a backup battery in reserve, standing by in the event of a power failure. To be over-the-top thorough, we have installed oscillating laser beams within the case that will trigger an alert if anyone tries to tamper with it. We do not just rely on technology; we go old school too, so we always have one security person here at all times, and another watching the monitored area on a screen in our control room."

     Of course, Neal had a few questions and wound up accompanying Reinhart to see where the control room was, and how it functioned. Then he insisted on seeing the actual power source panel. His meanderings took up at least an hour, and Peter was glad when Neal’s curiosity was satisfied. Finally, the two partners grabbed a late lunch and then met with their Vegas counterparts at the downtown FBI building.

     By evening, jet lag had caught up with both men, and they retired to their respective bedrooms. Peter’s biological clock was still on East Coast time, apparently, because he found himself wide-awake at 4 AM on Monday morning. He stuck his head into Neal’s bedroom and found it empty. Actually, the con man was nowhere to be found in the suite. Peter had taken Neal at his word that he wasn’t going to take the opportunity off-anklet to run. He had never lied to Peter, but his absence was disconcerting, nonetheless, made even more so by Mozzie also turning up in Vegas. So, Peter waited patiently on the sofa, and at 6 AM Neal eventually strolled in and nonchalantly dumped a pile of high-end chips onto the dining table.

     “So, where have you been?” Peter asked evenly.

     Neal gave him one of his winning smiles. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to try my hand at a little baccarat.”

     Peter had risen and was looking at the array of chips.

     “Apparently, you weren’t doing your gambling here, Neal. These chips are from ‘The MGM Grand Hotel and Casino.’”

     Again, the ingratiating smile appeared. “Yeah, MGM actually has a very entertaining floor show, Peter.”    

     “So, you were watching a show or sitting at a baccarat table all night long?” Peter asked in an even voice.

     “Well, not _all_ night, Peter. I actually felt bad for poor exiled Moz, so I met him later at Caesar’s Bacchanal for breakfast. By the way, it really is an over-the-top buffet.”

     “Neal, you had better be alert and on the ball today because I want you to set up a meeting between yourself and Spinnato. Make it happen here after we get all the listening and recording equipment in place.”

     Neal did as he was ordered, and the local tech guys got busy in the suite, as well as a room adjacent to it where they set up monitors with earphones.

~~~~~~~~~~

     For the rest of Monday, all day Tuesday, and part of Wednesday, Peter and Neal killed time. Peter made it a point to visit the “Holy Shrine,” as he irreverently termed it, where “The Regent” and her subjects held court. All appeared copacetic, but nothing was ever 100% safe in Peter’s world.

     Finally, on Wednesday evening, the designated time of the meeting rolled around. The FBI had agents at the ready listening to their earbuds and manning computer terminals, and others were armed and skulking about just waiting to pounce. Peter stayed right alongside of Neal, posing as his bodyguard. The con man kept the room dim with just subtle illumination from nearby lamps. Spinnato and his own hulking bodyguard arrived promptly. Neal met them at the door and invited the mobster to sit at the table across from him, while Peter stood behind Neal’s shoulder—the picture of a menacing sentry. Spinnato’s man did the same.

     “So, are you gonna do the job for me?” the mobster asked impatiently.

     “Perhaps it is already done,” Neal teased in a soft, silky voice. “Did you bring the money?”

     Spinnato took out an envelope from the inside of his jacket and slid it across the table without a word spoken.

     “Does that have the $150,000 that we agreed upon during our previous email conversation?” Neal asked curiously.

     Spinnato’s face became flushed, and he suddenly reacted with a menacing growl.

     “Are you trying to shake me down, punk? We said _$100,000_. It would not be healthy for you to try to play games, pretty boy. You might not end up so good-looking if you try to cross me on this.”

     Neal seemed to be weighing his options.

     “So, let me get this straight in my mind. Exactly what did we agree to during that email exchange? I need to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” Neal challenged.

     Spinnato leaned forward with a “you better not fuck with me” expression on his face.

     “In little words so that you can understand, Westin, you steal ‘The Regent’ diamond for me and then, and only then, I pay you _$100,000_ for the job.”

     Neal offered his guest a little smile. All during this tense confrontation, his hands had been loosely clasped on the tabletop. But now he separated them and lifted his palms slowly. Suddenly, from above the con man’s head, a small, tan chamois drawstring bag eerily descended and wafted delicately onto the table between him and Spinnato.

     “I told you—the job’s already done,” Neal whispered softly. “Open it and see what your money has bought you.”

     Spinnato and his bodyguard, as well as Peter, watched in wide-eyed bewilderment. The mobster finally overcame his confusion, grabbed the small bag, and emptied its contents onto the table. The chandelier above caused the spilled array of multicolored gems to emit sparkles from every color of the rainbow, and the phosphorescence from the obscenely large diamond in the middle was blinding.

     Without warning, Neal then abruptly snapped the fingers of both hands, and a pop preceded a puff of ominous white smoke. When it settled, there were only ashes remaining where the gems had previously been. Spinnato came out of his chair like a bull ready to charge, but Neal help up a restraining palm.

     “I just couldn’t help showing off a bit of magic, my friend,” the con man said with a smile. “The diamonds are actually in your coat pocket.”

     Spinnato pushed his greedy hands into his jacket and withdrew an identical chamois bag. He dumped the contents into the palm of his hand to reveal a matching set of gems. FBI agents chose that moment to come pouring into the room. They had gotten a confession and the perp had the ice in his hand. It was almost anticlimactic.

     As the adrenalin rush surrounding the arrest settled, and two people were led out in handcuffs, Peter pulled Neal into one of the bedrooms and demanded some answers.

     “Okay, Houdini, first question—are they really the actual diamonds?”

     Neal looked at Peter with an offended expression.

     “Of course they are, Peter. Would I lie? I removed them from the case early Monday morning.”

     Peter was frustrated. “Neal, I have been checking on those gems at least twice a day since we got here. They were in that case just an hour ago.”

     “Well, why don’t we take a little walk and check it out,” Neal suggested.

     As Neal had foretold, when he and Peter strode up to the tamper-proof, secure case with all its over-the-top bells and whistles, it was, indeed, empty. No alarms had been triggered alerting security of the breach. Visitors were walking up, shrugging their shoulders, and walking away in disappointment.

     Peter was dumbfounded. “Okay, now for my second question. How in the hell did you do that, Neal? I have seen those diamonds with my own eyes for the last three days!”

     “Perhaps you only thought that you saw them, Peter. As I said, I removed them on Monday, so maybe I just hypnotized you with a suggestion that they were still really there.”

     Peter was so not buying into that yarn. “Forget it, Buddy. I can’t be hypnotized. And even if you did somehow manage to do the impossible, just how did you pull off hypnotizing every other guest and tourist that has come to gawk at them since then?”

     “A magician never reveals his secrets, Peter,” Neal teased.

     “You are not a magician, Neal!”

     “Peter,” Neal said around a blinding smile, “did I ever tell you about the time that I was an apprentice to David Copperfield, the great illusionist? Remember back in 1983 when he made the Statue of Liberty disappear before a crowd of spectators right in New York City? He is very talented, and he’s actually performing right now in Vegas at the MGM Grand. I managed to have a drink with him between shows on Monday, and we got to reminisce about the old days. I could introduce you, but I’m sure that he won’t share his trade secrets with you either.”

     “Neal ……” Peter said menacingly. “Tell me this minute or I’m sending you back to prison!”

     Neal sighed and shrugged. “Peter, there is no such thing as magic. There is only illusion. Perhaps, with the accurate positioning of some very specialized equipment, a holographic display could be projected in just the right spot. Maybe what people thought they saw wasn’t really there, but how could one discern that when one couldn’t reach out to touch?”

     Peter wasn’t satisfied. “Well what about that little flying chamois bag that went up in smoke, huh. Spill the beans, Caffrey.”

     Neal just gave his handler a self-satisfied smirk.

     “Peter, it’s like the old saying, ‘ _What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!’”_


End file.
